Eight Years Coming
by blaineywainey
Summary: In the eight years after high school, Kurt has made a name for himself in an industry nobody expected: cupcakes. When Blaine suddenly makes a reappearance, his perfectly constructed life crumbles into emotional turmoil. Forever incomplete multi-chapter.
1. Chapter 1

_Another story I did in collaboration with Makenna a while back! (Go follow her at** flirtykurty . tumblr . com**, and see our livejournal at **aknavemanner . livejournal . com**) This one's a multi-chapter and a future!fic, slightly AU, probably diverges at the point before Original Song. **A warning: this is incomplete and will remain incomplete. **We lost inspiration in favor of other plotlines. But enjoy and review these few chapters if you like. :)_

_P.S. All Shook Up is NOT done. :D I just wanted to post these on here to have them all in the same place. And to shamelessly give them more publicity -_-  
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><p>Over the hustle and bustle of the shop, Kurt could scarcely be heard yelling, "We need more German Chocolate!" He quickly handed a newly frosted tray of cupcakes to his newest employee, Gemma, who placed them in the glass display.<p>

"I've been in line for half an hour, I demand chocolate sprinkles," barked the beefy man in the head of the line. Olivia, the cashier, helplessly gestured at Kurt for assistance.

Kurt strode confidently over to Olivia's side to assertively console the angry customer.

"Please sir, I know the wait is long, but none of the other customers seem to have an issue with waiting patiently. This is my shop, and if you can't keep your temper I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

The man stared at him in stunned silence, and before Kurt could register the familiar face he nodded and shrank back in line.

Kurt smiled triumphantly and walked back into the kitchen of 'Courage Cupcakes.'

The line chugged along, and perhaps to some the routine would become tedious, but not for Kurt. He loved it; the constant hum of jazz in the background, the gentle scent of chocolate hanging in the air, even the sometimes incorrigible customers. The place was a familiar Dior grey, the only remnant of Kurt's beginnings in Lima, Ohio. Hollywood was perfect for Kurt, but not for show business; he loved the hustle and bustle of warm, sunny California.

As Kurt iced a vanilla cupcake he vaguely heard Olivia call out customers' names: "Smith! Roberts! Karofsky!" Kurt instinctively felt an uncomfortable rush of adrenaline, but he pushed it easily aside. His horrible, sob-worthy past was behind him. Self-esteem-wise, Kurt was a new man. A man who owned a cupcake shop and wore nothing but designer clothing. (OK, so that part wasn't new.)

"You! Hands off the cupcakes!"

Kurt whipped around, his head baker Molly raising an eyebrow. "It's your day off!" she accused.

"Hey, I'm the owner. I can come in whenever I please," dismissed Kurt with a shaken hand in Molly's direction. "Why are you late, again?"

"Marcus came over last night," she hedged, grabbing her apron from its hook. Kurt gasped delightedly, clapping his hands together, but she just smirked and rushed to the ovens. Kurt followed, hot on her heels for gossip.

"So..." he hinted. "I know you're dying to tell me details!"

She pulled the apron around her waist. "You know I don't like to reveal secrets from the bedroom, Kurt."

Kurt rolled his eyes and placed a hand on his hip. "Honey, I've heard all your accounts of dirty encounters. What I want to know is when _that ring_ appeared on your _left ring finger_." He arched a perfectly trimmed eyebrow as Molly smiled serenely.

"Marcus asked me last night," she blurted.

"About time," Kurt beamed, before squealing and jumping up and down with his best friend.

Kurt had forgotten his past, but not necessarily his juvenile feminine ways.

* * *

><p>When they closed up shop at seven, he and Molly parted ways at the intersection. Kurt had a meeting that night with a major advertising firm: A, A &amp; J. He was meeting with one of the high-powered executives, as well. It was a huge contract. The meeting was downtown, in some posh hotel restaurant that Kurt had previously never dared to step into.<p>

"Hi, I have a reservation under Hummel?" It was phrased like a question. In reality, Kurt was in awe of the building. The ceiling was vaulted, with a luxurious crystal chandelier.

The lady at the front desk scanned the list in front of her and smiled amiably. "Right this way."

She led him across the leather couch-filled lobby through a set of double doors that led to the hotel restaurant. It was decorated, Kurt observed, in a Moroccan style that was very pleasing to the eye. Once seated to wait for the A, A&J executive, he ordered his signature Appletini, which was delivered almost immediately. Kurt sipped it, waiting.

Above all other things, Kurt hates tardiness. He was always at least five minutes early to everything. And while yes, it is rather fashionable to arrive late, being over half an hour late to a professional meeting is hardly that. He had began to be pestered by the waiters, asking him when his accompaniment was coming. This man was nowhere to be found. Irritatedly, Kurt tapped his iPhone, immediately texting his unhappiness to Molly. He looked around the restaurant.

His eyes caught upon a young man who had just rushed in, asking the receptionist something. He looked over, smiled and actually walked over to Kurt. As though he wasn't late! The nerve!

All Kurt really wanted to do was to strangle the tactless young man, who couldn't have been more than 25. However, with lips pursed thin, he attempted to shove down his irritation. Although he didn't approve of the man's manners, he still had to work with him and act professionally. He took a deep breath and smiled as welcomingly as he could, hiding the bitterness away. And he realized that, as he came nearer, this was not very difficult considering the attractiveness of the A, A& J executive. He felt Molly's response buzz in his pocket, but there was no time to respond. Either A., A., or J. was now at the table. Kurt stood up to acknowledge him as he held out his hand and said breathlessly,

"Hi! So sorry I'm late. Blaine Anderson."

Kurt immediately blanched, his hand halfway through its journey to shake. He blinked twice. He was unable to stop the words tumbling from his mouth.

"OH MY FUCK."

It wasn't even grammatically correct, which he would beat himself up about later, into a nice faithful bowl of Ben and Jerry's. It certainly wasn't intelligent sounding in the slightest. Definitely it wasn't professional.

He scrambled to find something, anything to say, but this was goddamn Blaine Anderson, as in, holy-shit, Blaine-goddamn-Anderson, Warbler Star, high school crushee extraordinaire.

"I'm, oh, my God, I'm sorry, it's..." Kurt faltered at Blaine's alarmed look. "I'm Hummel! Kurt Hummel!"

For an infinitesimal moment the look on Blaine's face was one of incomprehension. But then it clicked; the connection sparked.

"Kurt? Oh my God! Kurt! How are you? I haven't seen you in forever! I-" he paused, speechless and smiling wildly. "Come here."

And then, Kurt found himself trapped in a hug (a real one, bewilderingly, not even a neanderthalistic "bro-hug") with Blaine Anderson, and as if a dam had broken a stream of memories and feelings flooded into his entire being. He couldn't think, or process any of these emotions. Thought seemed impossible at the moment, something he knew how to do but couldn't really remember how at that precise moment. It was as if he were sixteen and meeting his best friend and love interest all over again.

And that was when Kurt realized:

He was still madly smitten with Blaine.

'How pathetic,' he thought.

"What are the odds of this?" Blaine commented excitedly, withdrawing from the hug. Kurt felt himself bending forward slightly, a residual longing for that hug to last longer. "You're the owner of Courage Cupcakes?"

"Yeah," Kurt responded dazedly. "I mean, yes, yes, I do. It's... it's been really great."

"How'd you get into cupcakes? Nah, wait, come on, let's sit down! Did you order yet?" Immediately they sat across from each other. "I thought you were all about healthy food."

"I suppose I realized that I'd rather be making and eating food that I enjoy, rather than eating for a figure to please someone's idea of perfection," Kurt rambled. Blaine nodded, a grin still plastered upon his face.

"Well, good for you. I'm glad to see you happy." Honestly, Kurt's face must have been at least the shade of a nice tomato soup. "I am freaking out right now, if you haven't noticed," mentioned Blaine.

Kurt smiled at his friend's enthusiasm. "I can see that." he paused, biting his lip as one of said memories came to the front of his mind. "Not as freaked out as you were when you decided to sing to a Junior Manager at the Gap."

"Oh my God," Blaine said, holding a hand to his temple. Kurt noticed that his shirt sleeves were perfectly cuffed and pressed. "I can't believe you still remember that." "How could I not?" Kurt said, eyebrows raised. "You were so messed up about it that it changed your whole outlook on Valentine's Day."

A funny look came over Blaine's brow as he smiled that hinted to Kurt that he wasn't the only one experiencing flashbacks. Blaine opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again and merely smiled at Kurt, as if drinking him all in.

"Yeah," he finally said. "You-" he shook his head, "-I mean, it did." He looked at Kurt again. "God, I just can't believe it, us, actually sitting here. You look great."

"You're not too bad yourself," Kurt threw back, glowing. "But you know, I'm sitting here feeling like a complete imbecile for the way I just yelled at you. I don't really... you know, yell swear words at my business partners. Or anything." He gave him a tight-lipped smile and shrugged lightly. "It was a shock."

"It's already forgotten," Blaine replied swiftly, his smile growing impossibly wider. "Totally lame. I don't want to get down to business, but I guess we have to get down to it."

Ignoring that statement's blatant innuendo, Kurt nodded. "I'm expanding next quarter. I only really work at the Hollywood one, but I own three branch bakeries, and a fourth is opening in Sierra Madre, so I just thought, publicity would be nice."

"Publicity WOULD be nice," agreed Blaine. "So we'd like to strike a deal with you. I can probably wrangle you a discount if you advertise with my company, but you gotta promise me that you'll stick with us."

'I've always stuck with you,' Kurt thought.

"If what you have to offer is reasonable and effective, there should be no reason to go elsewhere," he said aloud. "And honestly, I trust that you wouldn't try to take advantage of a first-timer like me."

Blaine shrugged. "I don't take advantage of my friends," he said simply. Then he added, "or first-timers. Anyway, I think I might be able to get you some full page advertisements..."

The business talk didn't take as long as Kurt had originally estimated. It turned out that Blaine was a very persuasive and yet very lenient businessman, a fact that didn't surprise Kurt in the least. Kurt could have easily ended the meeting after the business talk that ended with the last scraps of their delicious meal, but honestly, that would never make for a good story to tell Molly.

Conversation drifted to faraway topics once covered many years ago, as if they were still teens and hanging out at the Breadstix of Lima, Ohio.

The waitress came to pick up their plates, and she asked with a larger-than-life smile,

"Can I get you guys anything? Dessert? Coffee?"

Kurt shot Blaine a quick look that he picked up as a signal to take the lead. He smirked and inhaled deeply before turning to the waitress.

"I'll have medium drip, and a non-fat mocha for my friend, Meg Ryan."

Kurt closed his eyes surreptitiously and tried not to swoon out of utter bliss.

"My coffee order," he mumbled, and a tiny smile graced Blaine's face once more.

"I haven't forgotten it," he said seriously. "But I hope you haven't moved on."

Kurt pressed his lips together and smiled tightly, the words hitting a little too close to home for comfort.

"No, Blaine," he said softly. "I haven't moved on."

Blaine's smile slid from his face. He lifted a hand and coughed into his fist briefly. "Well, yeah... so, anyways, have you heard from any of the Warblers lately?" Blaine quickly asked. Kurt rolled his eyes.

"You were the only one that I was really close with," he pointed out. "The rest were your friends." Blaine nodded thoughtfully, shrugging a shoulder.

"Then any McKinley friends?"

"Other than Finn, not really," he replied quietly. "Mercedes and I email sometimes."

"That's a shame."

"That's how life works, I suppose," Kurt responded. "Anyways, speaking of the Warblers, are you still the same singing superstar that I remember from high school?"

Blaine chuckled. "Other than karaoke night at the bar and strumming on my guitar? Not so much. As much as I love singing, it just didn't turn out to be more practical than just a hobby." He shrugged, a wistful look on his face.

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Kurt said. "Male sopranos find slim pickings in the music business nowadays."

"Very true," Blaine said. "Well if the cupcake business ever gets you down, you can always feel free to sing to me about it."

"Will do," laughed Kurt, who inconsequentially felt like singing at that very moment. He sighed and rested a delicate hand beneath his chin. "So here we are."

"Here we are," Blaine agreed.

The creamy mocha came to an end far faster than he ever wanted it to. It really had been quite delicious.

"I..."

Kurt's eyes darted upwards at Blaine, who just stared back at him. He smiled, shaking his head. "No, never mind. So hey, got a lucky guy in your life?"

What a question. He told Blaine so, and he laughed.

"But I'm serious, man!" he asserted. "High school was kind of... slim pickings. California's a lot more accepting."

"There was one or two, but only briefly," Kurt admitted. Of course, he was only realizing why he had broken up with them in the first place right now. One guy hadn't had curly enough hair, the other hadn't had a musical-sounding voice... they weren't reaching this insane plateau of expectation Blaine had unknowingly set.

"Well what happened there?" Blaine asked, genuinely curious.

Kurt shrugged lightly, feeling more and more like a sappy teenager. "Neither was the one for me," he said truthfully.

"You'll find someone," Blaine said comfortingly, the ever-present mentor.

"What about you?" Kurt asked quickly, wishing to turn the subject away from his love interest. "

Blaine's smile vanished completely, as if he had just remembered something dreadful that he had striven to forget.

"No," he said slowly, looking down at the dregs of his coffee.

"Why so hesitant?" Kurt pressed, smiling with sudden, exciting apprehension.

"Uh..." Blaine looked everywhere but Kurt for a moment, finally resting his eyes back on his coffee. "Truthfully, I just got out of a really tough relationship."

Kurt managed pretty well to hide his growing grin. If there was anything he had learned from high school, it was to be supportive of his friends. He lay a friendly hand on Blaine's arm, and at Kurt's touch he looked up furtively.

"I'm sorry," Kurt said, really meaning it. "Are you okay?"

His friend looked down again. "I-" his mouth started to form the word 'am' as he glanced at Kurt, but out came a different set of words: "I will be." He firmly clasped Kurt's hand on top of his, forcing a smile. That was Blaine, always the tough one.

He didn't know when he got this vindictive. Wait, he always had been; hadn't he attempted to break up Quinn and Finn to try to get Finn to board the Shirtlifting Express?

Blaine scrunched his nose, and suddenly stood. "Here, we've paid. Do you want to get out of here?" he asked. Kurt was taken aback.

"And go where, exactly?" he shot back, suspicious.

"Let's go sing somewhere. I haven't sung in months. My ex wasn't..." Words seemed to fail Blaine for a moment, but he recovered. "...well, anyways, come on, I haven't sung with you in years. It's way overdue."

As if Kurt could say anything that would take away that bright smile on Blaine's face. Honestly, half of his persuasiveness came purely from looks.

"Like, karaoke?" Kurt asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Like, karaoke," Blaine parroted, mimicking Kurt's eyebrow raise. Kurt snorted for a moment, but he quickly covered his mouth, self-consciously. Blaine just laughed openly.

After all these years, Kurt's hand still fit perfectly in Blaine's as they ran out of the restaurant.

* * *

><p>Kurt walked into the bar laughing with Blaine at his side. Of all the places he expected to be tonight (which included pretty much only his bedroom under care of his nightly facial), this was definitely not one of them.<p>

"I'm just warning you," Blaine said into his ear over the loud din of the crowd, "I'm really rusty."

"Don't worry," Kurt said, "I only ever sing in the shower anymore."

They made their way over to the stage. Even though there were a few hesitant, debating stragglers hovering about its edge, it was empty. It probably wasn't late enough and people weren't drunk enough to get up the nerve to sing in front of strangers, Kurt figured. But did that stop Blaine Anderson?

Wait. What EVER stopped Blaine Anderson?

"Grab us drinks, will you?" he asked, already heading toward the stage to talk to the bored looking girl manning the station, who was practically falling asleep standing up.

Blaine was back just in time to claim his bottle of Bud Light.

"To singing," said Kurt, raising his bottle.

"To us," said Blaine, clinking it jubilantly.

Blaine took a long pull at his drink and slammed it down. He smacked his lips loudly.

"All right, I'm going on that stage right now," he declared.

"You're a singing drunk," commented Kurt between his laughter. Blaine just shot him a heartbreaking smile and ran to the platform. He grabbed the microphone, gesticulating at the guy at the karaoke machine. "'Pocket Change,' Damigo!" he seemed to be saying.

A solo guitar came over the speakers, and Blaine began swaying from side to side, keeping his eyes peeled on Kurt. A small grin was on Blaine's face, tugging at the side of his mouth. Kurt couldn't help but laugh into his hand, his other hand occupied with his bottle.

"Second Street and Broadway, there's a little bus stop," Blaine sang out, his voice just as clear and silky-smooth as it always had been. "Just an ordinary downtown of a city just around the block..."

His eyes closed periodically as he lost himself in the song, singing his heart out. Kurt cheered occasionally, waving his bottle in the air. Blaine opened his eyes again, eyes locked on Kurt's. He finished the song, its melody slowing. The lights in the bar were dimmed further, the colored lights spinning around the room. The tiny Christmas lights that adorned the stage seemed even brighter.

_"He sings a song that he wrote for him even though he's a million miles away,_ _And he dreams of when he held him close, yeah, cause oh how time has changed,_ _Then he switches to a minor key, but the memory won't fade away_ _Now he's twelve cents short of a bus ride home, playing for your pocket change,_" Blaine crooned.

Kurt's mouth fell slightly open, his eyes widening, and Blaine simply winked and whisked himself off the stage.

"Your turn," Blaine grinned as he jogged over, naturally refreshed from the fresh burst of song.

Kurt widened his eyes as Blaine pulled his arm to stand him up. "I thought you said you were rusty!" he said incredulously. "No way I'm following that performance." "Oh come on, live a little!" Blaine said, taking his own bottle and shoving it in Kurt's mouth.

He chugged one gulp of the nasty stuff and then pushed it away, raising a hand to straighten his bangs slowly. "You," he said, pointing at Blaine, "Will regret never giving me a solo in High School."

The next moment he was on the stage, standing awkwardly still and hearing the beginning notes of Vanessa Carlton's _Who's to Say_.

_"Stand up straight, do your trick, turn on the stars, Jupiter shines so bright..."_ He smiled in embarrassment, and chanced a glance at Blaine, who was smiling and shaking his head in disbelieving incredulity. Kurt grinned cockily, glad that he had surprised Blaine with his still-stunning voice. Turned out singing in the shower every night was a good plan after all. _"And who's to say that we're not good enough? And who's to say that this is not our love?"_

Kurt looked back at Blaine, who was no longer smirking. He was watching Kurt with a mild smile, as if he were watching something else other than a performer at karaoke night."

Every note hit perfectly, every melody sung flawlessly. Kurt still had it, and his star quality came rushing back with every lyric completed. Desperate to aim the meaning of the song to someone in particular, he urged all of the energy accumulated from the adrenaline rush of singing into the final gaze he threw at Blaine at the end of the song:

_"Stand up boy, I shine so bright when you're around."_ Kurt could have sworn momentarily he saw Blaine's legs twitch, itching to respond to the command in the song.

"Your voice is wonderful, per usual," Blaine told him once Kurt sat back down beside him. Kurt couldn't help but glow from the praise. "And song choice? It really was just... great."

"We really have expanded our vocabulary since high school, then," teased Kurt lightheartedly, and Blaine smiled, but it was a lot less bright than usual. It was almost melancholic.

Why did sad songs have to suit his voice perfectly? Damn them!

"Here, it's not like we're stopping now!" Kurt exclaimed, wrenching Blaine's hand for once. "Back to the stage!"

Blaine laughed as Kurt effectively dragged him upon the platform once more.

"I call Posh Spice and Baby Spice. Sorry," Kurt commented briefly. Blaine looked at him incredulously, and Kurt began to spit into his microphone. "_Yo, I'll tell you what I want, what I really really want._"

"_So tell me what you want, what you really really want_," Blaine sang right back, nearly unable to sing throughout his laughter.

"_I'll tell you what I want, what I really really want_!"

_"So TELL me what you want, what you really really want!"_

_"I wanna -"_

_"I wanna -"_

_"I wanna -"_

_"I wanna -"_

_"I wanna really really really wanna zig-a-zig, ahh_!" Kurt belted out, causing the bar to erupt in cheers and more than a few people raucously giggling.

_"If you wanna be my lover,_" Blaine sang, putting some groove into his body, "_You gotta get with my friends-_-"

_"Gotta get with my friends!_" Kurt sang in the background, leaning his back against Blaine's and dancing along with him.

"_Make it last forever-"_ sang Blaine, and as Kurt joined in he grabbed his hand playfully while they belted:

_"Friendship never ends!"_

The song lightened the entire mood of the evening. Kurt couldn't remember the last time he had had this much fun; singing and dancing with his best friend on a stage in front of a steadily increasingly enthusiastic audience was thrilling, to say the extreme least. Only about one eighth of the pleasant buzz in his brain was due to the alcohol.

They ended the song to uproarious applause, and were whisked off stage by people suddenly inspired to sing some karaoke. Pressed back against the wall to avoid the crowd, Blaine and Kurt looked at each other for a moment before breaking out into complete hysterical laughter.

* * *

><p>They stumbled outside of the bar, Blaine's arm around Kurt's shoulder and Kurt's around Blaine's waist. They walked down the street, occasionally belting out song lyrics and guffawing in awful fashion.<p>

"We - we need a cab," Kurt wheezed, still laughing. "We can't drive."

"A cab, a taxi!" Blaine shouted. "_Late last night, I heard my screen door slam! And a big yellow taxi took my boy away..._" He released Kurt, jumping onto a park bench.

"_Don't it always seem to go, that you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone..._" Kurt continued, just as grandly, occasionally hiccuping. Blaine turned to look at him, seriously scrutinizing his face. Kurt felt his heart leap into his throat as their eyes continually watched each other, but Blaine cracked a smile.

_"They paved paradise, and put in a parking lot..."_

And Blaine walked ahead of him, leaving Kurt straggling behind. "We really do need a cab, Blaine!"

"I got you, I got you..."

"_I got you, babe_!"

And for the rest of the night, they couldn't speak two words without breaking into song. It was juvenile. But it was heaven.


	2. Chapter 2

Kurt was afraid to open his eyes.

Birds were chirping outside the window, and far in the distance cars were driving by on the street. A slight breeze caused by a draft from the window was drifting over his cheek. The backs of his eyelids were stained red, telling him that the sun was blazing in onto his face.

It was too perfect. Way too good to be true. It all must have been a dream, there was no way—

But then Kurt felt something else. A steady, rhythmic breath of air on his cheek. Was the window really drafty after all?

Slowly, very very slowly, Kurt opened his eyes.

He found himself in his bed, face to face with Blaine Anderson.

If it hadn't been for the comfort of his high thread count cotton sheets, he would have done an odd combination of scream, dance, sing, and cry. He instead focused his tired, still sandy-feeling eyes on Blaine's too close face. It was the epitome of peaceful; his usually active eyebrows were at ease, his bright eyes dimmed by closed eyelids, his body moving slightly up and down from his intake of breath. But most importantly, his lips, perfectly pouted and slightly open from sleep. If only Kurt could manage to find the confidence he had yesterday (but what felt like a million years ago) at the Cupcake shop, he would close the space, the minuscule, two-inch space between them, to fulfill a longing he had been putting off for more than eight years…

Blaine's eyes flew open.

He sat up immediately, but his hand flew to his head.

"Oh, not a good idea…" he groaned, flopping back down upon Kurt's bed. "Fuck it is bright in here."

"It's the Dior Grey," Kurt rasped, his head pounding with each word. "Ugh. You want something to eat?"

"Oh God, not food…"

"I'll just heat up some coffee then."

"Black. Just keep it black for me right now."

Kurt stumbled out of bed, but he heard the fated noise. A key in the lock. Goddammit.

"Kurt, where are you?" Her voice was like a thousand elephants trampling through his aching head. "How'd the meeting go?"

Molly rounded the corner, to see Kurt still halfway out of bed, and Blaine wrapped in the covers. She raised a manicured hand to her mouth, which had an overly large grin cracking it in half, and chuckled awkwardly. "Oh my. Well, I'll just leave you alone then."

"No, Molly!" Kurt snapped.

"Ahhh," Blaine groaned. "No need to scream," he whined at Kurt.

"When you said a business meeting… well, I never figured you meant—" Molly began blatantly.

Kurt cut in, his heart beating a mile a minute. "Really, Molly, it's not like that at all—"

Blaine came to the rescue. Though his clothes and hair were rumpled and he was obviously hungover, he put on a valiant effort to look sober and professional as he rose out of bed to shake Molly's hand.

"Hi, Blaine Anderson. Kurt's high school friend." he managed to pull a bright smile out of his pocket. How he did this Kurt did not know, especially if Blaine's head was pounding as much as Kurt's was.

Molly smiled hesitantly back, not sure whether to stay or leave. She attempted at the former. "So what happened here? Girls gone wild?"

"A bit," Kurt replied, a smile tugging at his lips. He winced with the effort. "Be my favorite bad bitch and get us some coffee?"

"I'm not your maid," she responded airily, and added before whisking out of the room, "But I do make a mean hangover cure. Hope you aren't allergic to anything, Mr. Anderson."

"Oh, that's weird," Blaine grumbled. "Mr. Anderson. Really."

"It suits you," Kurt commented. "Maybe I should just call you that from now on. Is there anything else you need, Mr. Anderson sir?"

Blaine smiled briefly, sitting back down on the bed and raking a hand through his hair. "You're funny. I'm really hungover."

"And I'm not?"

"How on Earth can you be this awake?" Blaine moaned exasperatedly. "I'm struggling to keep my eyes open. I never want to wake up again."

"You need to get some more alcohol tolerance, Mr. Anderson."

"Mhm, I'm never ever drinking again."

"BULLshit."

Blaine smiled weakly as he took a pillow into his lap and crossed his legs. "Let me restate: I'm never drinking again unless it involves karaoke."

"I second the motion, Mr. Anderson."

"Will you shut up?" Blaine laughed, taking his pillow and slamming it across Kurt's face with such force that it knocked him on his back.

"Ow, Really?" Kurt asked incredulously "You really wanna go there?" He grabbed the nearest pillow and whacked Blaine across the head with it several times before collapsing back down in exertion.

Blaine cradled his head in his hands and fell into fetal position. "No…" he moaned. "No more, please."

Kurt laughed halfheartedly and looked at his friend, who smiled back at him.

"Okay," Blaine said, slowly easing himself into sitting position. "I officially feel disgusting." He ran his hand once again through his partially gelled curls. "Do you think I could have a shower?"

Kurt shivered and nodded, not really trusting his voice to not waver. Blaine stood up shakily, walking into the master bathroom and closing the door with a soft click. "Is he gone?"

"He's gone," Kurt whispered, and Molly rushed into the room. "Where's the hangover cure?" She pulled out a thermos.

"Hair of the dog that bit you," she declared, pouring a bit of it into a glass for him. Kurt scrunched up his nose.

"A Bloody Mary? You're original."

"The vitamins are good for you or some shit!" Molly defended. "Anyways. Is this THE Blaine?"

"The Blaine. The Blaine. When have I ever in my life mentioned Blaine?" Kurt asked, confusedly.

"I went through your high school yearbooks. You were in nearly EVERY picture with him. So, what's up? Why you got a hot curly-boy ass in your bed?"

At that moment, the shower turned on in the bathroom, and Kurt sighed in relief.

"We only had enough to split a cab here. In any event, it's not like that, no matter how much I would like it to be." Right after he said it, Kurt clasped a hand to his mouth and Molly pointed at him, her mouth ajar.

"What? No, wait, WHAT? Since when is Kurt Hummel, the Relationship Bum-mel actually interested in someone?"

"No, no! I didn't mean! Wait!" Kurt groaned and fell back onto the bed in defeat, motioning for Molly to sit beside him. He took a long drag on his drink.

"Look," Kurt said, glancing nervously at the door. "This is different—"

"Oh sure," Molly said sarcastically, arms crossed.

"Just- shh!" Kurt said with an accompanying 'shut it so I can talk' hand gesture.

"Truthfully, Blaine was pretty much the first technically gay crush I ever had."

"So?" Molly scoffed. "You're always the one who says that 'relationships are for saps,' and 'I don't need a significant other to feel confident about myself." The body language she employed to mock him were way too similar to his own.

"You don't understand!" Kurt said, grabbing Molly's hand with the one that was not holding a Bloody Mary. He took a deep breath and rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, praying for strength to admit aloud what had been spinning around in his brain for the past twelve hours. "Blaine has been the archetype for every single guy I've liked since high school."

Molly was done making fun. She looked seriously at Kurt.

"And this guy… this guy just happened to be the executive of the advertising firm you by chance decided to strike a deal with."

"Yes," Kurt said hesitantly, not sure where she was going with this.

"And it was just like old times? Best friends as always?"

"Yeah, I guess." He took another sip of the drink.

"The guy you've had a crush on since high school?"

"Hey, wait I never said—"

"Then go for it!" Molly practically yelled, squeezing his hand. This not only sent off explosions in Kurt's head, it alarmed him to no end that Blaine should hear this particularly mortifying conversation.

"You NEED to shut your mouth, please, just for once," hissed Kurt angrily, leaning forward towards Molly, who just giggled. At that moment, the water in the shower turned off. It was like Kurt had been in the shower too, and his blood ran cold.

Fuck. Had he heard?

Kurt glanced over his shoulder, but the door remained closed. Another sigh of relief.

He turned back to Molly. "Please, Molly," he said. "He is not interested. He made that very clear back in high school."

"I wasn't aware that we were still teenagers," she replied coolly. "Last time I checked you were twenty-six-Goddamn-years-old. Old enough to take command of your own life."

"But this would be taking command of Blaine and my own love life," Kurt pointed out. Molly groaned and weaved her hands into her hair, pulling it.

"You are extremely frustrating," she growled. "And I mean it."

"I love you too, dear," Kurt said lightly, and Blaine decided to emerge at that moment, rubbing a towel through his clean and ungelled hair.

"I'm wearing the same clothes, and it's grossing me out," Blaine announced. There was a short silence, and the tension was broken in the room, with Molly falling into a giggling hysteric that had her tipping over, and Kurt laughing into his hand.

"What's so funny?" Blaine asked, aghast.

"Nothing," Kurt said quickly. "I can lend you something if you'd like."

Blaine briefly put an arm around Kurt and said, "Thanks, you're a saint." For some reason, this entertained Molly to no end as a fresh new set of giggles erupted from her.

"What's wrong with her?" Blaine chuckled as Kurt offered him the hangover cure. Kurt led him to the chest of drawers beside his extensive closet.

"She's got some mental issues," Kurt fake-whispered to him.

"Hey!" now that she was being insulted, Molly did not seem to find the situation funny. "He's the one with mental issues," she blurted.

Kurt cleared his throat loudly, shooting a menacing look of daggers at her. "Okay Blaine, these might be a little big, but why don't you wear this—" (he threw a pair of True Religion jeans into his arms) "…this…" (a comfy white cotton shirt) "and…" (with a flourish he pulled out a navy blue cardigan) "this. Sorry dude, but I'm a neat-freak enough to not let you barge into my underwear drawer."

And there was Molly, in giggles again.

"I will kick you out," Kurt warned.

Blaine had quirked a smile, and Kurt just rolled his eyes. "Don't encourage her," he muttered. He stood and shooed Molly out the door, shutting it in her face, amidst her many protests.

"Do you wanna do something today?" Blaine asked, pulling on his leather shoes and wincing. Kurt bit his lip.

"Well, it's Thursday… I'm still in shock that we went out on a Wednesday, by the way," Kurt added quietly. "I do have work…"

"NO, HE DOESN'T!" Molly shouted through the door. "AND HE'D LOVE TO DO SOMETHING TODAY!"

Fucking Molly. So intrusive! Kurt looked back over and Blaine, who shrugged and lifted his eyebrows in question. "So should we do something?"

"I doubt Molly will let me say no, but it's not as though I'd want to," Kurt replied breezily, pushing his bangs back in place. "That's a yes, Blaine. What do you want to do?"

"Do you wanna do something kind of weird?" Blaine asked, his voice full of double meaning. Kurt felt his face growing beet red, but Blaine laughed. "The aquarium. Do you want to go to the aquarium?"

"Yes, the aquarium. Yeah, let's go," Kurt responded, out of it, feeling lightheaded.

* * *

><p>Kurt had never really been to the aquarium as a kid. Sure, he had had his fair share of goldfish as a little kid when his dad was convinced his child was incapable of the responsibility any animal larger than three inches in length brought with it. But aside from the fishbowl on his childhood bedside table Kurt had never really bothered to oggle at fish from behind the glass.<p>

When he told this to Blaine as they drove to the Aquarium, Blaine nearly sprayed his black coffee to go all over the passenger side of Kurt's dark cherry red Ford Fiesta.

"Please contain yourself!" Kurt scoffed, appalled, but eyed the coffee that looked appealing to his still-throbbing head. He grabbed it out of Blaine's hands as the curly-haired maniac continued to laugh and took a sip.

"Hey!" Blaine stopped laughing immediately and claimed the container back. "I can't believe you've never been to the aquarium. Don't worry, it's not boring at all."

'Well of course not,' Kurt thought, 'because nothing is boring when I'm with Blaine.'

But Kurt was determined, now that he and Blaine were officially "friends" again, not to let childish feelings get in the way of what had to be nothing other than fate. Even if Kurt still didn't believe in religion, some things just could not be explained by simple coincidence. He would NOT screw this up.

But keeping cool was pretty damn hard when Blaine was smiling goofily at him and chatting in his smoother-than-melted-chocolate voice all the way to their destination.

He hadn't realized just how large the Aquarium of the Pacific was. But the place was huge. He hadn't realized that it wasn't just a few fish swimming about in a tank.

Blaine had dragged Kurt behind him, paying for the tickets quickly and taking him inside the place.

"Otters!" Kurt exclaimed excitedly. "There's otters here, Blaine, look!" He jumped around the side of the otter exhibit, bouncing on the balls of his feet to get a better look at the semi-aquatic mammals.

"Are you sure you're twenty-six?" Blaine asked, laughing.

"I'll have you know that I'm nearly twenty-seven," Kurt sniffed. His eyes drifted and grew wide. "There are SHARKS here?"

"Of course," Blaine replied, now at least attempting to hold in his laughter but failing miserably. "All kinds."

"Do you think they'll have an octopus?" Kurt asked, his face bright and anxious. Blaine had stopped laughing by now, but a large smile still graced his face.

"I'd be really surprised if they didn't."

"Well, I think we should go check."

"I agree." With that, Blaine stepped forward and threaded his fingers in Kurt's. Kurt temporarily lost his breathing function and had to jog slightly to keep up with Blaine's brisk pace. His heart was beating loudly in his ears, and he had to bite his lower lip to keep from laughing hysterically (or crying).

They whisked past excited children and tourists with clicking cameras, under the life-size blue whale that hung suspended from the ceiling. Kurt's heart felt twice the whale's size, with nothing to worry about, just laughing with his friend (FRIEND, Kurt emphasized in his head), fingers safe and warm in Blaine's.

"If things haven't changed since the last time I was here…" Blaine mused as they stopped idly at the foot of the broad, winding stairs, "Octopi are on the second floor, all the way in the back of the…"

"Northern Pacific Gallery." Kurt had pulled Map out of his coat pocket with his free hand.

"Which is right up there." Blaine pointed to the clearly stated exhibit. "You don't miss a step, do you?" he asked incredulously, grinning.

"Never," said Kurt proudly.

Blaine smirked mischievously. "Well in that case…" he bit his lip before jumping up: "Race you there!"

In the split second it took Kurt to comprehend, Blaine laughed at his oblivious face and squeezed his hand playfully before sprinting up the stairs, knocking innocent and bewildered passerby out of the way.

"This isn't fair," Kurt wheezed, his hands resting upon his knees. "I work in a Goddamn cupcake shop, and you expect me to race you?"

Blaine just leaned against the tank of colorful tropical Micronesian fish. "Yeah, but you wouldn't have gotten up here right as this exhibit opens, and trust me, you want to be the only one in here."

Kurt raised an eyebrow, but then he looked up at Blaine. His mouth fell open. Everything was tinged in a bright blue, and even the floor was shimmering with the light reflecting from the sun. He wouldn't admit it to Blaine, or even himself, but the sharp contrast of the shadows and reflected light upon Blaine's face made him seem even MORE gorgeous, which he honestly hadn't thought possible. He looked regal. Not fair.

They were in a tunnel of glass, with even the ceilings having fish fly over them. He turned back to Blaine.

"We're underwater," he stated incredulously, and Blaine smirked.

"That we are. Here, let's look for an octopus. There must be at least one. Look around rocks."

So they stood side by side, hands on the glass, searching for an octopus. A Goddamned octopus.

Kurt wasn't looking for a Goddamned octopus. A nice thought, though. As if he

could tear his eyes from Blaine! He was—

— Stupid. They were friends.

So he tore his eyes from the teal-tinged face of his friend, his FRIEND, his FRIEND! and began his search for the eight-legged cephalopod.

Their hands, pressed against the glass, were millimeters away. Kurt didn't need to stare to notice this; his peripheral vision did all the work. He swallowed hard and tore himself away from Blaine's side to peruse the other end of the tank.

Unbeknownst to Kurt, Blaine's eyes followed him all the way there, watching his porcelain skin dance under the aquamarine light.

"Hey look!" Kurt suddenly said. He motioned for Blaine to join him. "Come here."

Blaine obeyed, standing behind Kurt and leaning over his shoulder to see from the same angle. Kurt tried to pretend that Blaine's cheek's close proximity to his own wasn't disconcerting. He pointed at the glass."Right there."

Blaine leaned a little more forward. Kurt only half-wished Blaine had the capacity to stay out of his personal bubble. When Blaine said nothing in response, Kurt commented with concern, "Don't you see it?"

Blaine chuckled, and they both turned to each other at once to find their blue-lit faces much closer than they had estimated. Kurt was paralyzed, not sure whether they were too close for friends or too far from more-than-friends. Blaine's face, for the two seconds they stared in shock, was unreadable besides surprise. Then, he smiled indecipherably and lowered his eyes, but did not move an inch forward or back.

"Kurt…" he muttered.

"Yes," Kurt said bravely in a very small voice.

Blaine's eyes moved back up to his, sparkling with humor. "That's a squid, not an octopus."

Kurt let out a breath he did not know he had been holding in with a sharp laugh and shoved Blaine away. "God, don't do that to me!" he blurted out.

"Do what?" Blaine asked, laughing at Kurt's irritation.

"Nothing," Kurt sighed, rolling his eyes and turning on his heel. "Let's go. There are obviously no octopi here."

"Wait," Blaine said, falling in step with him. "Seriously, don't do what?"

"Nothing," Kurt insisted, shrugging nonchalantly.

"Come on," Blaine said, pleading like a child.

"Nothing," Kurt said, smiling.

"Ku-urt," Blaine sang, his tone light and airy.

"Bla-aine," Kurt sang right back, his voice just as sweet.

"Seriously. What was—"

"I want to look at sharks," Kurt interrupted suddenly. Blaine raised his eyebrows once more.

"Sharks?"

"Yeah."

"Well, OK," Blaine said, bewildered. "That's fine. They're downstairs, in the Shark Lagoon. You can pet some of them, actually."

Kurt blanched. "And they wouldn't take a chunk out of you or something?" he asked tentatively, and Blaine just laughed, which he seemed to do a lot around Kurt.

"No, they're the nice ones. You could even touch a sting ray."

That seemed to do it for Kurt, and he was already halfway down the stairs before Blaine could realize what was happening.

"I thought I was slow!" Kurt called behind him, and Blaine just smirked before racing after him.

Kurt ran through the Sea Lion tunnel that led to the outside area of the Aquarium, Blaine trailing at his heels. He pushed past the doors and broke into the lightly crowded, sunlit courtyard, and ran through the children's playground, nearly getting soaked with the water-fire of opposing kid's water-spraying play structures (from what Kurt glimpsed, the girl in charge of the giant squid fountain was dominating the twin boys cowering behind the large shark). Once he reached the shallow Shark Lagoon he stopped abruptly, causing Blaine to crash into him and nearly knock Kurt into the water. Luckily, Blaine caught him by the waist and straightened his friend up before the warm, tropical water could take hold of Kurt's completely Prada outfit.

"No rough-housing in the Shark Lagoon," the lady announcing miscellaneous shark facts said monotonously before returning to repeating her memorized facts.

Blaine's arm lingered for a moment on Kurt's waist before he brought it in front of him to point: "Hey look, there's a really big black sting ray. I think it's coming over this way, watch out—"

Kurt hastily rolled up his designer sleeve and dipped his hand into the water to stroke the surprisingly smooth-yet rough surface of the sleek ray.

"Ohmygosh," he said, automatically giggling and feeling like a five-year old. "You have to feel this."

But the ray was already sliding away, making its rounds about the oddly-shaped pond. Blaine made to follow it, but it kept escaping. They went on a wild goose-chase around the pool, laughing and shrieking and lunging this way and that trying to grab hold of the thing.

"Touch with two fingers only," the shark-lady said in a very bored tone, speaking to no one in particular.

"Looks like someone needs a Courage Cupcake," Kurt said out of the corner of his mouth, effecting a choke of laughter from Blaine as the frightened ray finally slipped away.

They spent another half hour chasing the sharks around the pool, effectively ignoring the woman upon her perch. She didn't seem to mind, nor did the semi-frightened aquatic animals.

They strolled through the rest of the aquarium, pointing out animals of interest, Blaine occasionally taking the initiative and swinging their joined hands.

"I think we should go somewhere to eat," Blaine said as they sat on a bench, drinking what little sun there was and watching the sea otters (Kurt's apparent favorite animal) hop all over each other.

"You think?" Kurt replied distractedly, watching one of the otters dive below the surface. "We could just get something at a stand."

"No, I want to take you out."

It was one of the hardest moments of Kurt's life not to whip his head around to stare at Blaine, jump up in excitement and twirl around a bit.

He didn't (thankfully), so he still had a bit of that nonchalant dignity.

"That sounds good, do you have a place in mind?"

* * *

><p>So they ended up sitting at the bar in a Johnny Rockets, Kurt a bit reluctantly.<p>

"I swear, Blaine," Kurt said, shaking his head as he looked down the menu. "Are you secretly five years old?"

"As if!" Blaine replied indignantly. "You were the one squealing at the otters."

"You actually said 'as if.' Are you a teenage girl?"

"I'm feeling hurt, you know. I'm taking you out to lunch at my favorite restaurant." Kurt snorted at that, and Blaine grinned. "What, haven't you been here before?"

"Yeah…" Kurt said slowly. "Yeah, I've been here before."

"How long has it been?"

"Almost twenty years now."

"That's quite a memory!" Blaine replied, astonished. "You remember the exact day?"

"Well, yes," Kurt said shortly. "Because that was the day that my father told me my mother didn't have that long to live."

Honestly, Kurt should receive some sort of award for fucking up a perfect situation and making it awkward as all hell.

Blaine opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. He took a deep breath, but just as Kurt was sure he was about to try and change the subject, Blaine crossed to Kurt's side of the booth and pulled him into a gentle hug.

"I'm sorry," he said softly.

Kurt's face was flushed to the roots. "For what?" he asked, returning the hug.

"For messing up this perfect day. I'm so glad we met up, Kurt. You were my best friend in high school, and the odds of us meeting in the situation we did last night were just…" Kurt felt him shake his head in disbelief. "I don't even know."

Kurt smiled faintly over Blaine's shoulder and held him a bit tighter to comfort him. Hadn't he just been thinking this same thing the whole day? "You have nothing to be sorry about, Blaine. It's my fault I even brought my silly drama into this."

Blaine pulled away to look at Kurt. "If I tell you something cheesy, will you promise not to laugh?"

Kurt grinned and held up crossed fingers. "No promises!"

Blaine chuckled and looked down for a moment. "You meant a lot to me, Kurt—"

'Meant?' Thought Kurt, panicking. 'Not present tense?'

"You were the only friend who…" he gestured with his hands to emphasize his point. "Who I could really talk to. And relate to."

Kurt rolled his eyes, blushing. "You were friends with Wes and David long before I even came around—"

"But see, that's just it!" Blaine said, widening his eyes at Kurt with the passion in his argument. "Straight guys, no matter how fun they are, don't really… get it. You know?" Blaine put a friendly hand on his friend's knee, and Kurt nodded. "With you I didn't have to hold back; I could just be myself."

Kurt now could not keep in the stupid grin that had been threatening to pop out all day. "But what does that have to do with us being here at Johnny Rockets?"

Blaine smiled. "Drifting away from you and meeting you again made me realize what a friend I'd lost over the years. None of my… friends" —'BOYfriends?' thought Kurt hopefully— "Could ever really measure up. I don't want to lose you again. And if we're going to be friends from now on, I want us to have fun. I don't want to make you uncomfortable, ever."

Kurt looked up to see the waitress coming to their table. "Too late for that…" he mumbled under his breath, contemplating the precise way Blaine's warm hand rested on his knee, and how his blue-flickering face had been inches from his own.

"What?" Blaine asked.

Kurt smiled and grasped Blaine's hand, standing up.

"I said, let's order."


	3. Chapter 3

"It's like…" Kurt took the time between enormous, sloppy bites of pecan ice cream, "…we're back in high school, and he is just as oblivious as ever."

"Every girl's plight," Molly said, nodding sympathetically.

"He has to know!" Kurt exclaimed. "How in the WORLD could he be THAT ignorant? For eight years, Molly. EIGHT years, I have pined over this boy. This… shit, he looks so good, doesn't he?" Kurt reached over and took a long pull off of her Nutty Irishman. "He is no longer a boy, that's for sure."

"I like you like this. You freaking out about something else than work," Molly commented dazedly. She held the gigantic scoop of ice cream upon a silver spoon thoughtfully before sticking it in her mouth. "It'ff like you'ff haff sumpffing to freak out about."

"I hate you. You are not a supportive friend," Kurt lamented. He drained the rest of her drink. "Do we have any more Bailey's?"

"All out, baby, sorry. You wanna watch When Harry Met Sally?"

"Anything but that!" Kurt groaned, stuffing his face into one of his pillows. "Literally anything!"

At that point, Molly's phone vibrated. She picked it up. "Hello? Marcus baby, I'm with Kurt right now. We're having a sort of girly crisis." With his head still in the pillow, Kurt flipped her the bird. She just rolled her eyes. "Yeah. Yeah, alright. Love you too. Bye."

She clicked her phone closed and sighed, her eyes dreamy. Kurt, who had looked up in this time, flopped down again.

"You're revolting."

"You're mad because I'm happy?"

"Nobody should be happy when I'm this frustrated."

Molly just sighed once more, standing up and picking up her purse off the floor. "Well, Kurt, unlike other girls, I'm not really into pity parties," she announced, and he looked up at her fearfully.

"No, I need you right now! Mo-olly-yy…" he dragged out her name, like it had several more syllables.

"See you later, Kurt," she said, smiling at him and poking his nose. "You are gonna be so hungover tomorrow. And you have work. Just because you took today off for your hot little date with Blaine doesn't mean I'll let you do it every day." She winked at him.

And with that, Kurt was left alone.

He pouted his lips and huffed out a breath that no one would hear.

He looked to the right: a blank Dior Grey wall hung with too-familiar paintings.

He looked to the left, his bangs flopping into his face. Warm night breeze drifted in from the velvety royal blue sky in through the open window.

He looked to his extreme left, at the pillow. Just less than a day ago a mop of half-gelled curls had been resting there.

Kurt looked around abruptly, making sure that no one was watching him. He slowly began to lean over onto his stomach, eyes stealthily roaming around in their hazily inebriated state, before hastily burying himself in the previously-stated pillow, taking the deepest breath he had ever taken in his life.

Spearmint, hair product, and light cologne.

To any other sober person, it would have smelled like a pillow. But to Kurt, it smelled like Blaine always had: like crisp morning.

But then, Kurt suddenly realized what he was doing.

He let out a monumental groan of frustration and rolled onto his back, whacking himself with the "sacred" pillow, hoping to whack some sense into that stupidly hormonal head as well.

Suddenly he sat up. He realized what he needed. Retail therapy.

But he was tipsy as fuck.

…there was always HauteLook.

And .

So he slunk over to his computer, a grin growing on his face. When he pressed the on button, nothing happened. He frowned, pressing it again. No luck.

Maybe it was unplugged.

He went underneath the desk to try and locate the cable, but the cable… wasn't there. It wasn't in the wall, or in the computer. Like it had vanished.

It hadn't. There was a bright pink sticky note on the wall socket.

"Hey baby boy. I know you shop when you're frustrated but you're gonna go in the red again if you do. Love, Molly."

The sound of utter rage and irritation that Kurt released at that moment echoed in his scantly decorated apartment.

He pulled at his two-day-unwashed hair, something that he'd normally never do, making it stand up, disheveled. What was he going to do now? Drunk dial Blaine? Oooh no. He then made it a point to hide his own phone.

He flicked on the TV, grabbed a box of Kleenex, and bought Legends of the Fall on his On Demand. If a war-stricken, young-thirties Brad Pitt couldn't get him out of this funk, nothing could.

Kurt tried very, very hard to concentrate on Brad Pitt's face. He really did. But, with combined factors of inebriation and an increasing craving for chocolate, it was becoming difficult. He soon came into the conclusion that if he did not taste chocolate on his tongue he would simply die, and so he paused the movie at thirty minutes in and tumbled out of bed.

Into the kitchen he went. He tugged open the cupboard and found not only half a bag of Lindt truffles and a pristine new package of double-chocolate Milano cookies, but an unopened jar of Nutella.

Kurt shrugged to himself. You can never have too much chocolate.

But just as he was turning to close the cabinet and head back to Brad Pitt therapy, he spotted a sheet of printer paper folded in half at the foot of his front door, evidently pushed in through the little mail slit.

Kurt stumbled over and dropped everything in his arms to read it:

'Keep tomorrow night free. -B'

Kurt didn't feel very drunk anymore.

But he did still crave chocolate.

He tucked the note safely into his jeans pocket and walked, very dignifiedly, back to his bedroom.

* * *

><p>The next day was Friday.<p>

Kurt was jumpy. Well, perhaps jumpy was an understatement, but saying that he flinched violently at the slightest touch is a bit mean.

Molly and Olivia kept giggling, reenacting what they thought were scenes from Kurt's fantasies.

"Kurt," Molly began lowly, her voice a terrifying baritone. "I have waited for you all my life."

"Oh, Blaine," Olivia squealed, sounding like a mouse, "Ravage me! Right in the middle of the store, my love!"

"With pleasure!" Molly roared. They fell upon each other, laughing hysterically, with Kurt turning a bright tomato red.

"That is not funny," he clipped.

"Yes it is," Gemma said quietly from beside him. Molly whooped and pumped her fist in the air.

"Yeah, it is!"

"Blaine, don't get distracted! You're leaving me unattended!"

Immediately Molly dipped Olivia low, but then dropped her, and fell over her, both of them guffawing too loudly to care about any bruises.

"You guys are so annoying," Kurt grumbled, his face still flushed. "I should fire all of you. Get a clean slate."

"Nobody else could put up with you," Molly pointed out, Olivia nodding fervently. "Or us, for that matter."

"And you love us," Olivia sang.

"You are all so lucky that there aren't brunch rushes at cupcake shops."

"What the hell is a BRUNCH rush?"

Kurt smirked and playfully pushed her away. "Back into the front, all of you. I can handle things back here."

Kurt was glad to admit that his jumpiness wore off just a minuscule bit as he got into his cupcake groove. Put batch in the oven - Icing on the cool batch - Take batch out of oven - Repeat. His business and work had turned out to be, as stressful as it had ultimately become, a stress-reliever. Any problems he had in his personal life he could simply ice away onto Strawberry Shortcake cupcakes. It was because of this that he focused all of his energy into making perfect pastries for the hungry customers out there, and thus calming his nerves at least a little bit. (It also helped that his ever-playful employees soon found themselves preoccupied without distractions at the counter out in front, tending to the daily cupcake rush.

But alas, any progress made in the jumpy-nerve-business soon reverted back to square one when Olivia peeked around the corner of the kitchen just around closing time.

"Kurt…" she stifled a giggle. "I think you have a visitor."

Kurt quirked an eyebrow, grabbing the blue dishtowel off the sink. He wiped his floured hands and walked out into the storefront.

He immediately halted when he saw Blaine perusing the window of cupcakes. Kurt quickly glanced over to Molly who had to stuff a fist in her mouth to keep from giggling at Kurt's astounded face. Kurt glared at her, quickly flipping her the bird before Blaine looked up at him. A tremendous smile broke across his face.

"Hey, Kurt," he greeted. Oh Gaga, even his voice was suave. "You know, I'm doing the advertising for this place and I've never come in here."

"I know," Kurt said, his throat suddenly unbelievably dry. "I'm in here practically every day." Blaine nodded thoughtfully and walked closer to Kurt, who now stood behind the counter.

"So I take it you got my note?" he asked, but it wasn't really a question. Kurt nodded, still feeling incredible cottonmouth. "Awesome. So I'll be taking you out tonight."

"Sounds lovely," Kurt rasped, and he heard a snort from behind him. He whipped his head around but Molly had clasped her hands behind her back, her mouth in a tight, obviously subdued smile. He turned back to Blaine swiftly, who looked rather confused.

"Um, where will we be going?"

"One of my personal favorites," he said, leaning against the counter to smile (flirtatiously, Kurt imagined) at his best friend. "California Pizza Kitchen."

Kurt heard Molly suffocate what must have been a squeal. Blaine glanced at her and smiled.

"Hey there, Molly."

"Hi," Molly said, twiddling her fingers at Blaine.

"Please excuse my employees," Kurt said, rolling his eyes in dry embarrassment.

"They're quite juvenile." He shot an icy glare at Olivia and Molly, who shrank back against the wall trying not to smile crazily. Gemma just watched them, shaking her head indulgently.

"Well leave me with your juvenile employees for a minute," Blaine said enthusiastically,

"And go change so we can go."

Kurt was out of there faster than a bullet.

In the safety of the kitchen he ripped off his apron and ran to hang it on its designated hook, nearly knocking over several new batches of cupcakes (which Gemma, who had followed him in, placed sturdily upon the counter again). He ran over to the opposite counter to grab his normal clothes from the duffel bag he brought to work everyday, and was already beginning to unbutton his uniform before he reached the bathroom when Gemma lightly tugged on his sleeve. He snapped around, swaying a little.

"Kurt," she said, smiling. "Calm down."

"What?" Kurt squeaked. "I'm calm. I'm totally calm. Don't know what you're talking about." He made to reach for the restroom door again, but continued: "Wait, you left him alone with those two? Oh my god." He turned away once again, but Gemma gently pulled him back.

"Listen. You stress and work so hard over this shop every day. I don't want you to bring that into your new-found personal life as well." She smirked at her own humor. "You deserve some fun for once. Don't complicate it."

Kurt made a mental note to begin taking Gemma's advice over Molly's. "Thanks Gem," he said, hugging her.

And as soon as she returned to the front, Kurt was off again, changing into a completely Marc Jacobs outfit in thirty seconds flat.

He smoothed his bangs slowly before sauntering to meet his date.

Blaine's eyes widened when Kurt reentered the room. Kurt stopped short, immediately self-conscious.

"What?" he asked, folding his arms over his chest. Blaine just shook his head and met Kurt's eyes.

"Nothing. Here, let's go. Could you leave your car here?"

Kurt opened his mouth, but Molly cut in. "Actually, I carpooled with Olivia this morning, so I could drive your car home, Kurt," she offered sweetly. Kurt made a mental note to give her a raise. Right after Gemma.

"Key's on the hook," he called over his shoulder as he and Blaine exited the shop, Blaine holding the door open for him. "So, CPK? I haven't been there since I was a kid."

"Hopefully not another experience like before?" Blaine asked worriedly. Kurt grinned.

"No, no, it's just been a while. Now I'll ask you again: how old are you? And what is with you and eating out?"

"At least seven," Blaine replied thoughtfully. "And as a gay man, I don't really enjoy eating out, but I do love dining on the town." Kurt's mouth dropped open in surprise, but Blaine just laughed loudly and got in the car. Kurt just shut his mouth and coughed into his hand, masking giggles.

* * *

><p>The restaurant was filled to the brim with happily chatting diners.<p>

"Are you sure this was a good idea?" Kurt fumbled with his words over the loud din as people in the crowded line pressed him into Blaine as they squeezed by.

Blaine seemed not to recognize the people who pushed Kurt and welcomed his newly appeared closeness by throwing an arm around him and leaning into his ear to be heard over the commotion.

"Don't worry. I planned ahead."

Kurt let Blaine steer him, miraculously assertive, through the crowd at the front of the restaurant and up to the harried black man at the computer.

"I have a reservation under Anderson?" Blaine asked, moving his arm down to Kurt's waist in order to be more surreptitious. Kurt focused very hard at the stack of crayons on the man's podium.

The man scanned his list and nodded, smiling wearily. "Right this way."

He grabbed two menus and ventured out into the fray. Blaine and Kurt trailed on his heels.

Kurt was dubious that there really were any seats available; every single one they passed was fully occupied with people halfway through their dinner. However, surprisingly, amazingly, they were led to a small table for two in the quietest corner of the dining area.

"Your waiter will be right with you," said the man, and he strode quickly away to attend to the other hungry monsters ravaging his post.

"You really know how to treat a guy," Kurt said lightly, and Blaine laughed. "CPK; who'd have known it could be so classy?"

"See, I know. I know what to do."

Their waiter walked up to them. He was tall, and that was the first thing Kurt noticed. But his stunning blue eyes is what caught him next.

"Hi, I'm Mason, I'll be serving you tonight." He flashed a smile at Kurt, his teeth bright and white. "Do you want to hear our specials? I've got a few that I'd like to share with you."

Kurt looked to Blaine, who looked a little disgruntled. He tilted his head at him, but Blaine just smiled tightly. "That's fine," Blaine told the waiter. "We have regular meals." Kurt was about to open his mouth to ask, 'We do?' but honestly he didn't think that would go over so well with Blaine. Mason the waiter barely acknowledged Blaine at all.

"So would you like something to drink, then?" Mason asked, looking specifically at Kurt.

"I especially enjoy the Asian Plum Martini. Think maybe that'd be your type?"

"Um, that sounds…" Kurt began slowly, sneaking a glance at Blaine, who was looking more irritated by the moment. "…not alright, at all, no. Um, could we just get some wine?"

"Sure," Mason said, smoothly pulling out the wine list from his apron. "White or red?"

"Blaine?" Kurt asked. "What do you think? Red or white?"

"Whatever you want," Blaine replied shortly. Kurt scowled, but Blaine didn't notice. He turned back to Mason.

"Red's fine. A bottle of Blackstone Merlot, please."

"Excellent choice," Mason trilled. "I'll be right back then."

Mason ambled away, and Kurt looked sharply at Blaine, who stared right back.

"What?" Blaine grunted.

"What was that?" Kurt exclaimed.

"I don't know what-" But Kurt silenced him with an incredulous diva stare.

Blaine shrugged and grinned an apparently forced smile. "It's nothing." He opened up a menu, pretending to be oblivious to Kurt's judging eyes. "What do you normally like to get here?"

Kurt lifted his nose into the air slightly in surrender. He would let slide Blaine's obnoxious behavior… for now. "Barbecue Chicken Salad," he said without hesitation.

"I get the Sicilian pizza. Want to get both and split?" He asked, just as the waiter came back with their drinks surprisingly quick.

"Sounds great," Kurt said brightly, as Mason the waiter cleared his throat.

"Here are your drinks…" he said jovially, once again taking no consideration to Blaine. He reached to place the glasses on the table and brushed Kurt's perfectly pressed sleeve on the way.

"Oh," Mason said airily. "So sorry."

"It's no problem," Kurt said, oblivious.

It was apparently a problem for Blaine, who said with soft firmness, "You should really be more careful when reaching across tables." He did not look at Mason, but sipped intently from his glass.

Mason smiled tightly. "Of course," was all he could say, and he flashed Kurt a smoldering smile before turning on his heel to leave.

Kurt simply raised an eyebrow at Blaine.

Mason was back almost as quickly as he left, a brightly colored piece of paper in his hand.

"So I'll be taking your orders now," he said tightly, still smiling at Kurt and fully ignoring Blaine. "But before I forget…"

He handed the paper to Blaine, who took it confusedly.

"Thought it'd be a bit more appropriate for your maturity," he commented airily, brushing a hand in the air. Kurt's eyes widened and Blaine's face folded into a glower. Blaine was holding a child's menu.

Blaine was about to stand, but Kurt placed a hand on his shoulder and stood up. He looked straight at Mason.

"I'm sorry, Mason," Kurt cut. "But that is entirely unprofessional. If you worked for me, you'd have a pay cut, a warning and no chance at a promotion. You cannot talk to customers that way. Are we clear, or do I have to talk to your manager?"

Mason's eyes were stretched broad as he nodded his assent. "Thank you," Kurt said.

"We're going to have a full order of the Barbecue Chicken Salad and a Sicilian Pizza. I work in the food business. I know how things work. You do one thing to that pizza, or put us on the very end of the food queue, and I'll be going to have a nice long talk with the general manager."

Mason nodded once more and scurried away, not looking back. Kurt sighed and sat back down. Blaine looked to be in total awe of Kurt. Again, Kurt was self-conscious.

"What? I just… can't stand unprofessionalism," Kurt muttered. Blaine's face could have been split by the grin gracing it.

"No, it's totally fine with me. You can talk back to waiters any time. Preferably around me."

"I'm a pro at handling immature people," Kurt said indignantly.

Blaine laughed into his hand. "Yeah, I can see that."

But Kurt narrowed his eyes at his friend. "And you were acting pretty immature as well," he hinted. "He wouldn't have been so rude to you if you hadn't acted that way."

"Well, considering the fact that we've been acting like five year olds for two days straight…" Blaine retorted, intentionally shooting a blazing smile at Kurt, whose built up facade of anger melted away in a snap. He opened his mouth to retort but nothing came out, so Blaine continued.

"You're just so dense. You actually think the reason he treated me like that was because I was being immature?"

"Of course," Kurt said, blinking in surprise.

Blaine laughed dryly. "You honestly couldn't tell?"

Kurt frowned. "Don't mess with me, Blaine. What are you talking about?"

Blaine let out an unbecoming guffaw. "Oh my god, Kurt. He was practically drooling over you."

Kurt was astonished. "I… How can you…"

But Blaine cut in. "I would think that you of all people would know when someone was trying to court you…" he trailed off and gazed into his wine, muttering something under his breath that sounded something like "obviously not."

Kurt determinedly grabbed his wine glass and downed its contents in a single pull, screwing up his face. Blaine looked up with eyes wide.

"Are you supposed to savor wine…?"

Kurt slammed down the glass, a fiery look in his eyes.

"Listen, Blaine," Kurt growled. "I'm gonna try and make things clear for you, just as I did with Mason the Waiter. Capisce?"

"I can't believe you just sa- yes. Yes. I do." Blaine blurted at Kurt's glare. He sat back in his chair, eyes still broadly opened.

"You have absolutely no right to be jealous, Blaine. I was jealous for fucking years. Jeremiah? Rachel? That German exchange student?"

"OK, that one was for like, a week…" Blaine began, but he closed his mouth quickly. Kurt sighed, pushing a lock of hair back into place.

"You are oblivious!" Kurt exclaimed. "Completely, utterly oblivious!"

"I'M oblivious!" Blaine repeated in disbelief. Kurt didn't realize when they had both stood, bud suddenly they were staring each other down. "I'M oblivious! Goddamn it, Kurt…"

He grabbed Kurt's wrist and pulled him out from the table, placing his hands on his shoulders and shaking him lightly. "I don't think I'm the one who's oblivious," he said lowly.

Involuntary tears sprung to Kurt's eyes as his voice broke halfway through his response, "Really Blaine? Because I've lo-" He swallowed briefly, looking downwards, shaking his head. He looked back up. "I've wanted you for eight years and you haven't really seemed to notice or even give a damn."

Blaine's hazel-green eyes were locked on Kurt's lowered steel blue ones, suspended in a lapse of thought. They were communicating in that miraculously electrifying way they always used to; saying monumental things without words, making foggy subjects clear and even foggier at the same time. Hearts beat sporadically, not sure whether to beat at a mile a minute or stop dead completely.

Kurt heightened his eyes to Blaine's, a single rebellious tear sliding down his pale cheek. He wished he could wipe it away, but he didn't realize that Blaine had interlocked their fingers. He took a strong breath and said softly,

"Please tell me I didn't just say that."

"You did," Blaine said, barely smiling. But he wasn't looking into Kurt's eyes anymore. They were leveled on a place slightly lower. Kurt did not fail to notice this.

"Please," he said, not knowing what was tumbling out of his mouth, trying not to sound desperate, "I don't think I can wait another second."

Blaine's hands left his shoulders and flew to the sides of Kurt's face, tangling in his hair.

Kurt was about to protest, he had spent so long on his hair this morning, but all his thoughts came to a complete standstill.

Blaine's lips were pressed against his, sans technique, just two faces meeting, and as quickly as it happened, it was over. It was OVER. Not even two seconds had passed.

Kurt just stared at him. Blaine drew his hands to his sides, but pressed a fist to his mouth. "Um, fuck."

"'Um, fuck' is right. What the hell was that?" Kurt exclaimed. Blaine just crinkled his eyes, biting his fist.

"Uh, I guess I took that wrong, I'm sorry, I don't —"

"I waited eight Goddamn years for that kiss. No WAY is that the kiss I'll be remembering," Kurt said angrily, pulling Blaine back to him by the neck and they were joined once more. Kurt's hands found their way into Blaine's curls, knotting them. An insistent tongue forced his way through Kurt's parted lips, and Kurt involuntarily groaned, pulling Blaine impossibly closer. Blaine's hands encircled Kurt's waist, and this was IT, this was what Kurt had been waiting for…

An awkward, impatient throat clearing brought them back to the present. They separated, their eyes locked, both breathing hard, but Kurt turned away to see who could possibly have a problem with an event as lovely as this.

"Your food?" Mason the waiter said indignantly. He gestured vaguely to the food in his hands.

Kurt and Blaine were still paused in an embrace, staring without comprehension at him, realizing that there was indeed a world outside their personal paradise for two.

Kurt coughed awkwardly and tried to separate himself from Blaine, but Blaine held fast to his waist and only moved their combined persona out of Mason's path to the table.

"Please," Blaine said mock-politely, risking the release of one hand to gesture welcomingly at the table.

Mason shot them a jaded look as he dumped the meal down. He said bravely, "Don't let me interrupt you," huffed, and strode off pretentiously.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Blaine answered him after he had gone and, smiling as if world peace had just been declared, he leaned in to place feverish lips on Kurt's neck.

Kurt felt his body go a bit limp when Blaine's lips burnt holes upon his throat, but he gently placed his delicate hands upon Blaine's chest.

"This is inappropriate," Kurt said, without much conviction. "We're in a restaurant. Later."

Blaine reluctantly pulled away, his hand trailing from Kurt's hips to his arm, then his hand. They sat back down at the table, their food sitting there, suddenly seeming a whole lot more bland.

They ate in relative silence, just marveling in being together, and looking up at one another. The only words exchanged consisted mostly of, "Would you like some more?" and "Aren't there any avocados left?"

Kurt had fought him a bit, but Blaine insisted on paying. They left the restaurant, Blaine having left an enormous, vainglorious tip for Mason. They were linked arm-in-arm, Kurt feeling rather delirious at the whole turn of events.

They sat in the car, silent still, and Blaine drove. They had been driving for about twenty minutes when Kurt scrutinized their surroundings.

"Blaine, where are we going?"

"I haven't a clue, actually. I was waiting for a cue," Blaine admitted sheepishly. Kurt bit his lip and smiled.

"We could just… I don't know, go to the park or something? Sit on a bench for a while, talk?" Kurt attempted, his face going bright red. Blaine raised an eyebrow, his eyes still on the road.

"Mr. Hummel, I say!" Blaine said dramatically, but Kurt just huffed, embarrassed.

"I don't know. I… I've just kind of always wanted to do that with you."

Blaine didn't say anything. Kurt sat back in his chair, mortified, and didn't say another word. But then the car stopped, and they were at a dimly-lit park with rolling green hills. "Oh, Blaine, we don't have to, I mean…"

"No, come on, Kurt. I can tell this is important to you. If anything else, we can just make out."

Face burning, Kurt got out of the car, tripping over his own feet on the way.


	4. Chapter 4

Kurt and Blaine sat on a bench with interlocked hands in the abandoned park, the former's legs crossed over the latter's. Blaine absentmindedly stroked Kurt's thumb as he spoke the first words to emerge from the silent, warm April air.

"Do you remember when we first met?"

Kurt sighed happily. "A little." Truthfully, life had been such a roller coaster with Blaine that he couldn't remember when memories began and ended.

"I knew you weren't really from Dalton." He chuckled as Kurt rolled his eyes.

"Only because I wasn't wearing the uniform."

Blaine smiled and shook his head. "Your inner diva shone through so blindingly that it was obvious such a star could not have been from the Dalton galaxy."

Kurt looked at him with incredulous wonder. "You've got to be kidding me. This is coming from the guy who said he was no good at romance."

Blaine shrugged. "I'm not. I've been rehearsing that line for a while." He paused. "Can I tell you a secret?" he asked, looking furtively at Kurt.

"You can tell me anything, Blaine," was his automatic response. Blaine beckoned him closer with his head, and Kurt leaned in, waiting.

For a moment. his breath was on Kurt's cheek. Then he whispered, "I love you," and pecked him on the cheek.

Kurt felt a shiver roll down his back, tightening his hand around Blaine's.

"Blaine," he whispered. Blaine had migrated to his neck, kissing his jaw lightly. Kurt grimaced slightly, setting his other hand lightly on Blaine's chest and pushing. "Blaine, come on."

Blaine pulled back slightly, his eyebrows raised. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Um, I think we need to talk for a second. A minute. Maybe longer."

"Sounds good." Blaine untangled his legs from Kurt, turning to face him head-on. "So what are we talking about?"

"What is this about to you?" Kurt blurted. "Because... I'm not saying I don't believe that you... lo... that you are enamored with me..." He cleared his throat. "But I mean, I've had guys say that to me..." He was looking at his shoes now, searching for invisible scuffs. "So... what is this?"

Blaine was quiet for a second, as though contemplating. "I think that we are just... just you and I."

"No labels, then?" Kurt asked shakily.

"Not unless you want to have them," Blaine said, shrugging. "I'm totally fine with you pacing things."

Kurt held Blaine's hand a little more tightly. "I'd really like that for right now."

"Cool," Blaine replied, smiling.

They were quiet for a moment, Blaine resettling beside Kurt. Kurt laid his head against Blaine's shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Blaine," Kurt said softly. "I want you to know that I really do... I... I love you."

Blaine kissed his partially styled hair and sighed.

"Question," he said.

"Yes," Kurt replied.

"So we're... just you and I, right?"

"Yes, we just established that," Kurt said, smiling.

He could feel Blaine's mouth twist into a puzzled line. "Do you and I still get to kiss?"

Kurt lifted his head and blinked at him. "I guess."

"Any time?" Blaine shot back.

"Yes?" Kurt asked, not sure where this was going.

"Any place?" Blaine asked, looking a little jumpy.

"Yeah."

"Right now?" Blaine asked, smiling and leaning into him playfully.

Kurt kissed him in reply, allowing his aching lips to slide into Blaine's perfectly.

"So this whole you and I business," Kurt said in between kisses.

"Yeah," Blaine said vaguely, becoming increasingly less willing to talk.

"I think I like it." Kurt said against Blaine's mouth, and they both laughed, retaining their best friend quality.

Kurt's hand rose, still woven with Blaine's, as he pulled himself closed to Blaine, resting a knee on Blaine's thigh as he crept nearer to him. Blaine's hand went behind Kurt's neck, wrenching him closer still, both of them in awe of the euphoria rushing through them. Their lips meshed again and again, both of them separating for air, laughing when doing so. Kurt felt his cheeks beginning to throb with the continuous smile against Blaine's lips.

"We gotta stop," Blaine said breathlessly, pulling away, his chest heaving. Kurt licked his lips, smirking. "No, it's late."

"We don't have work tomorrow, though," Kurt pointed out.

"I'm a classy man, alright?" Blaine replied, crossly. "I won't be swayed by your wiles."

"Oh, my wiles. They're quite dangerous."

"I'd say." Blaine pulled Kurt's leg off his, and Kurt just sighed.

"You're right. We should go."

"But we're not going without style," Blaine said bluntly, making Kurt scrunch his eyebrows in confusing.

"What do you -"

Blaine reached below his legs and whisked him upwards, making Kurt squeal as he wrapped his arms around Blaine's neck.

"Don't you drop me, Blaine Anderson! Don't you dare!" Kurt screeched. Blaine just laughed freely, continually pressing kisses to Kurt's face, who giggled rather hysterically. Blaine threw him into his seat in the car, Kurt crying out in mock indignation.

Blaine flung himself into the drivers side, laughing, and leaned over to a snickering Kurt for an adorably fumbly kiss before starting the car and driving into the night.

They were at Kurt's building in no time, and making their way up to his apartment in total bliss.

"No, Blaine, I saw the look on his face. Jeremiah's eyes were definitely brown."

"I was obsessed with him for months, I think I'd know!"

"You were too taken by your crazy whims to notice shit!" cried Kurt as he dug for his keys in his pockets outside his door.

"I'm telling you, Kurt, they were blue."

"You only thought they were blue because you were secretly in love with me in high school," blurted Kurt, losing all inhibitions completely.

Blaine unexpectedly swept Kurt into his arms dramatically. "It wasn't a secret." They smiled at each other. Blaine asked, still holding tight, "Did you find your keys?"

Kurt silently took them from his back pocket and jingled them in Blaine's face. He laughed and released Kurt, who opened the door expertly, then faced Blaine. They looked at each other in calm silence.

"Love you," said Blaine, smiling like a desperately happy puppydog.

"Love you too," said Kurt, unable to contain his own wild grin.

Blaine hugged him warmly. "Sorry it took eight years."

Kurt said nothing, but pulled back to bestow upon his- best friend, boyfriend, it didn't matter - a soft, gentle, intimate kiss.

"See you tomorrow," Blaine said without doubt as they broke apart.

"Can't wait," said Kurt, as he closed the door behind him.

He waited four beats, enough time for Blaine to at least head out the door, before wrenching out his phone and hitting the speed dial.

"Fuck, fuck, pick up..." Kurt muttered, bouncing on the balls of his feet. There was a click.

"Hello?" came a sleepy voice.

"We made out!" Kurt screamed into the phone. There was a second of no response. Then another, and Kurt considered re-shouting.

"WHAT? WHERE?"

Thusly began Kurt sitting on his bed, recounting the entire evening to Molly.

He set the phone on speaker as he went about his moisturizing routine that night.

"So what's up with you two?" she asked.

"We're not putting labels on it," Kurt replied, rubbing some Clinique into his skin.

"So you just... made out? At a park? And... you're not putting labels on it?"

"Yup," Kurt said, halting in his moisturizing. "What's wrong?"

"Don't get me wrong, but are you sure that's what you want?"

"Yeah," responded Kurt, resuming.

"Trashy."

"No, it isn't. We're mature enough to not need labels."

"Whatever. I know that I liked it when Marc finally called me his girlfriend," Molly said reprovingly.

"Look," said Kurt, annoyed that Molly was becoming such a buzzkill. "Blaine and I have known each other for a long time. I want to take it slow. Make sure this isn't nothing."

Molly hesitated. "Well, I guess I trust you, if you're sure about it. But honey... I've got a long shift at the shop tomorrow. I have to turn in."

Kurt smiled. "I know, sorry. I'll come in to help."

"No you won't," she scolded, "Not if you have plans with Blaine."

"Blaine can wait," Kurt said, not entirely convinced of it. "See you tomorrow."

"Love you!"

"Love you too."

The phone clicked dead.

He collapsed in his bed only to find that he had a new text.

'goodnight. -B'

Kurt fell asleep wondering what the flirtiest yet most casual response would be.

* * *

><p>Dusting his hands from the flour, Kurt turned over the thick dough in the bowl with a wooden spoon. He knew that dark-chocolate orange cupcakes were tough, and his muscles strained with the effort. He wiped his forehead, smudging white powder upon it. Bread wasn't even this hard!<p>

'I am so out of shape,' he thought miserably, pushing the dough. Gemma's head peeked through the door.

"Hey, K-Hum, do we do custom orders?" she asked. Kurt raised an eyebrow.

"Well, it depends on the order. Should I come out there?"

"Please!"

So Kurt walked into the store, wiping his hands on his black apron, leaving long white streaks.

Next to the line was a man in a khaki-colored button-up shirt leaning against the counter, chatting up Molly, who was blushing intensely. Really, a fashion travesty, and Kurt would have said something in outrage, but nevertheless, he cleared his throat, catching Molly's attention. He gestured towards the queue of people growing steadily more irritated, and she hurried away.

"Do you need the custom order?" Kurt asked politely, and the man turned around.

It really wasn't fair for men to be this gorgeous. He was rugged, even with manly, thick stubble; he had these piercing grey eyes, and dark, deep biestre locks that perfectly framed his chiseled features. He was straight out of a hunky male model calendar. The shirt was pulled up to his forearms.

Kurt shook himself... he was ogling the poor man! The man grinned; of course, narrow, straight white teeth. "I am," he said smoothly. "I was wondering if you could make me any white chocolate cupcakes? My boyfriend is quite fond of them."

Ugh, and he was gay! Could he get any more perfect? Well, he was taken.

What was Kurt thinking? He had Blaine!

"Yes, yes, we can make some white chocolate ones, of course. But custom orders have a 13% surcharge," Kurt rambled quickly. The man shot him another broad smile. Oh, his dimples were just... they weren't even adorable. How could a man even make DIMPLES hot?

"That's fine, I'll pay whatever the price is," the man responded. "I need a half-dozen."

"Then that'll be..." Kurt absentmindedly tapped at the cash register. "$28.25. When do you need them by?"

"Could you have them ready for me by tonight at around four?" the man asked, his voice like melted butter. Kurt nodded dazedly, and the man smiled once more. Just gorgeous. "That's great. I'll see you soon then."

"Wait!" Kurt called after him, just as the man was leaving. "You need to pay first, and... I need a name."

He turned around and flashed a show-stopping smile. "Weston Jett. I'll be back at four."

And then, as if Kurt's insides weren't sloppy enough, he whispered a wink across his right eye before sauntering out.

"Shit," Kurt said, frozen and awestruck.

And then he realized what he had just gotten himself into.

"SHIT," he said for real this time.

"What's wrong?" asked Olivia, who was handling a wieldy box of cupcakes to a customer.

"I don't know how to make White Chocolate cupcakes," he breathed.

"Just wing it," said Molly breezily as Kurt whisked past into the kitchen. "Use melted chocolate chips or something," she called helpfully.

Kurt quickly spooned the chocolate orange batter into a cupcake pan and shoved it in the oven before pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose, mentally calculating the store of measurements and ingredients filed away in his brain. He jotted down his thoughts onto the whiteboard at the far end of the kitchen beside the apron hooks and then got to work.

The first batch was not pretty at all. They were lopsided as hell, and Kurt realized that he hadn't added enough baking powder.

The second batch was better, but not Courage Cupcakes standard at all.

So the third batch was perfection, of course, and Kurt wouldn't accept any less.

Especially not for this... Weston. Even his name was hot. It was almost breathy.

Every time he thought this, he hit his head gently, remembering Blaine.

Weston returned at 4:15, and the store had been getting louder and louder. It was the busiest time of day; well, dessert was traditionally right after dinner, so it was nice to pick some up right before. Weston had saluted with two fingers at Kurt, rushing through the storefront, grinning at him widely. Kurt returned the smile immediately, waving him over.

"Sorry, the store is rather busy right now. Hot time," Kurt explained hastily. "I have your cupcakes in the back, if you'll wait here."

"That's fine," Weston replied, his posture casual, leaning against the wall.

Kurt rushed to the kitchen, grabbing the box of six cupcakes. The bright blue and red emblem on front was lovely and shining. Not matte at all, which is how he intended it when he designed the damn thing. He brought out the box to Weston.

"Enjoy them, they gave me a bit of trouble," Kurt said, chipper. Weston raised an elegant black brow.

"Did they?"

"Oh, nothing too bad," Kurt backtracked, immediately embarrassed. "I'm exaggerating. What's the event?"

"I haven't seen my boyfriend in a while. Just getting back together," Weston said briefly, looking Kurt directly in the eyes, watching his every move. Kurt nodded dumbly.

"Well, be sure to send... what's his name?"

"Blaine," Weston responded. Kurt felt his veins freeze. His jaw tightened and he gritted his teeth. But he shouldn't assume anything...

"Yes, well... be sure to send this Blaine our best wishes," Kurt ground out. Weston furrowed his eyebrows.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fuckin' peachy - oh, my goodness..." Kurt shook his head. "I... I have to get back to the kitchen."

He raced away from Weston, feeling his cheeks burning, his thoughts more so.

In the solitude of the kitchen, Kurt allowed his face to turn ten shades of red. He vaguely heard Gemma ringing up Weston at the cash register, but Kurt couldn't care less. It was a coincidence. It had to be. Blaine was his. His Blaine. The Blaine for whom he had been waiting eight years, Mr. Perfect-Blaine-Anderson.

Plus, Blaine was a perfectly common name.

Not.

Kurt banged his head against the oven and immediately cursed, rubbing his burning head. Desperate for something to do with his somehow useless hands, began to violently put together another batch of chocolate orange cupcakes and stir furiously.

If he had managed to convince himself it was a coincidence, why was he so damn angry?

Because maybe it all had been too good to be true. Maybe Blaine wasn't as perfect as Kurt had imagined. How well did Kurt really know Blaine? Sure he knew his favorite broadway musical, his favorite issue of Vogue, his favorite song, favorite color... but who WAS Blaine Anderson, the person?

At this very moment, Kurt had no clue.

He slunk down on the fall, hugging his knees briefly, needing to feel a bit helpless.

He heard the door open, and a pair of warm arms encircle him.

"Molly, I can't talk right now," he murmured, his voice thick.

"Then don't," she said simply. "Later, you will, but you don't have to right now."

They sat on the floor until the store closed. Gemma and Olivia managed the storefront; they were fully capable, even when Kurt wasn't.

* * *

><p>"You know, I had never met a Blaine before Blaine Anderson!" Kurt exclaimed wetly, the martini in his hand swishing sloppily. "This can't be a coincidence. I'm... oh, Cheesus, I'm the other woman!"<p>

"OK, first of all, you are not a woman, second of all, who is Cheesus?" Molly said, her voice plaintive. "Calm yourself. You are getting messy."

"I don't care right now!" Kurt exclaimed, raising his arm high in the air. Sharp alcohol dripped down his arm as he pulled off it, the taste burning his throat. "I'm going to drink and forget my problems. Like college."

"And we all know how well college went for you, Kurt," Olivia said, rolling her eyes. Kurt glared at her, but it lacked anything that terrifying. Especially since he was nearly parallel to the floor.

"Perhaps it is a coincidence," Gemma said thoughtfully, twirling the umbrella in her drink. "Shouldn't you ask Blaine before getting this worked up about it?"

"Fuck Blaine! Fuck men in general! I should just become straight!" Kurt screeched, finally letting Molly remove the glass from his hand. "You know, if things were that easy, I probably wouldn't be here right now."

"Yup, and Kurt, you drunk is a messy, gross drunk, so we're just gonna get you home. Sleep this off, and talk to Blaine tomorrow," Molly pacified. "Let's go."

She put an arm beneath his and led him to her car, Gemma supporting his other side. Olivia trailed behind, waving to the bartender.

"We were the last ones in there," Olivia pointed out. "Does that make us depressing?"

"Shut up!" Kurt moaned, shaking their arms out from beneath him.

"Kurt," Gemma said, placing a hand lightly on his shoulder.

He softened slightly under her touch. She had been rather timid the whole evening. And refreshingly neutral.

"What?" he whined.

"You're an adult," she said firmly. "And you need to handle this like an adult. Let us drive you home, and when you wake up in the morning you can decide how to handle it."

"Honestly," said Olivia. "You've been going home drunk nearly every night this week. You've got to admit that's unhealthy."

Kurt pouted as he pondered this. "Thasstrue," he slurred. He closed his eyes and held out his arms. "Take me home."

The girls giggled, helping him once again.

Once bestowing their employer and dear friend in his bed, and after showering him with affectionate hugs and kisses, the girls left the apartment and Kurt was alone. Again.

Gemma was right. He needed to man up. Even if he was "the other woman" or Blaine's "boyfriend," he was still Blaine's best friend. And best friends sorted things out. Always.

He sighed calmly and decided to try and sober up by showering and moisturizing.

But when Kurt climbed into bed to find a new text, his calm state of mind shattered like glass:

'eating cupcakes and thinking of you hope your lack of response to my desperate texts means the shop is busy'

Kurt let out a strangled cry of rage and hurled the phone across the room.

* * *

><p>The tub was two-and-a-half feet deep, with jets, and had been one of the reasons Kurt took the apartment.<p>

He poured his herbal soap into the water liberally, stepping in and wincing at the warmth. He settled himself in, breathing deeply. He had put on some Jay Brannan on repeat, and he leaned his head against the edge of the tub.

He drummed his fingers on the porcelain, trying to forget how irritated he really was at Blaine.

_"And in each other's shadows, we grew less and less tall,_

_And eventually our theories couldn't explain it all,_

_And I'm recording our history now on the bedroom wall,_

_And when we leave the landlord will come_

_And paint over it all..."_

He sang softly along, sipping deeply from his pomegranate iced tea. He needed to not have a hangover tomorrow. He was sure that work was going to be stepping on eggshells with the girls.

And if either Blaine or Weston came by, he wasn't quite sure that he'd be entirely sane in his response to them. So he wanted to look heartbreakingly gorgeous, as well as sober, when he gave them a piece of his mind.

His toes had become raisins, and he pressed them against the floor of his bathtub. He fiddled with the faucets for a while.

Deftly he pressed his iPod speakers, so they turned off, and he toweled off.

Of course, Blaine would lie to him about the boyfriend situation.

How could such a genuine, dapper, openly gay man be single?

Things that seemed too good to be true always were.


	5. Chapter 5

Time ticked by, and with every second Kurt grew tenser.

It was three hours until closing time, and he had been doggedly ignoring Blaine's texts, and even his calls when Blaine began to get worried. Kurt was normally not a petty man, but his behavior stemmed partially from his prolonged irritation and partially from his desire to see Blaine face to face. And he knew that if Blaine got worried enough, boyfriend or no boyfriend he would come to check up on him. In person.

The only thing was, Kurt couldn't figure out if the reason he wanted to see Blaine in person was because he wanted to kiss his face or explode angrily into it.

He had currently forgotten his task at hand, and his hands were still frozen on the strawberry cake mix. He began furiously stirring just as Gemma popped her head in.

"What's up, Gem?" Kurt asked stiffly. "Any problems out there?"

"No," she said softly. "Any problems in here?" she asked, and when Kurt only stirred the mix in icy silence, she added, "Heard anything more from Blaine?"

"Five texts, six calls. All ignored," he said, keeping his emotions in mechanical check.

Gemma grimaced. "I'll let you know when he drops by," she said, before ducking her head back out.

Kurt sighed heavily.

Half an hour had passed, and there was a slight commotion outside. He quirked an eyebrow, stepping forwards. He was about to step through the door when it burst open and Gemma began to push him back inside.

"I don't think you should go out there right now," she whispered urgently. "Molly's giving Blaine a piece of her mind."

"Fuck!" Kurt swore, brushing Gemma aside and rushing out. Molly, with her tiny height (she didn't even hit 5'0''), was poking an extremely bewildered Blaine in the chest.

"I don't even know how you have the BALLS to come around here, you Goddamn COWARD -"

"Molly!" Kurt shouted, eyes wide and nerves jumping. "Molly, shut up!"

Molly whipped her head around, her lips pursing. "I'll leave you two to deal with it. But not in the store."

"I have no idea what's going on," Blaine said plainly, his eyebrows raised heavily. "Kurt -"

"Outside, Blaine, come on," Kurt said tiredly, going ahead of Blaine and pushing open the glass door. "I don't want to make this any more dramatic than it has to be."

"Can we go to my apartment then?" Blaine asked timidly. "It sounds like this is a serious conversation."

Molly was about to protest but Kurt interrupted her once more. "That's fine. Farther the better."

The drive to Blaine's lofty apartment was held in stony silence. It was all Kurt could do to keep himself from shaking in anger, and anticipation, and nervousness and hurt and love-

"We're here," Blaine said in a low voice.

Kurt managed to keep his cool all the way up the stairs, through the lobby, the whole ride in the elevator, down the hall, and stepping through the door of Apartment 216.

The first words Blaine said immediately upon closing the door behind them came out in a low, cautious voice; a quiet demand more than a question: "What's going on, Kurt?"

Kurt glanced around the stylishly furnished living room, trying not to imagine his friend lounged on the different pieces of furniture, before staring daggers at Blaine.

"I don't know, Blaine, why don't you tell me? I knew that this thing between us was described as 'you and me,' but I have to admit I wasn't picturing a third party in the picture. "

"I don't - Kurt, what?" Blaine asked, his face screwed up. "What are you talking about?"

"I met him, Blaine. Weston. He came in to get some white chocolate cupcakes." Blaine's face fell, and Kurt scowled. "Yeah, THOSE white chocolate cupcakes."

Blaine was silent, his shoulders drawn up tightly, and he was looking at the ceiling abashed. "The thing about Weston..." he began slowly, and Kurt shook his head.

"Surprising thing is, Blaine, I really don't want to know what the thing about Weston is. I admit I was curious to know why you thought it was alright to string me along, though." He took a fortifying breath and folded his arms. "Honestly, it's like some sort of screwed-up game you play. It goes back to high school, Blaine, and I'm sick of it," he snapped. He balled his fists and just glared straight-on at Blaine. "So pray tell, what is it?"

"I didn't think you'd find out about him," Blaine said lowly. Kurt's eyes widened, his eyebrow twitching.

"What... what the FUCK is that supposed to mean?" Kurt screeched. "You didn't think I'd FIND OUT about him? Am I just some... side-dish? We haven't even had sex, so am I just some... some ego-test to see if you can get some gay kid to fall in love with you?"

"You're in love with me," Blaine repeated dazedly. Kurt groaned, stomping his foot. This shook Blaine from his reverie. "No, no, Kurt, really, that's not what I meant, Weston and I haven't been together for a while..."

"You know, that's another thing, because I already knew that. Through WESTON. He said you hadn't seen each other in a while," Kurt babbled angrily, feeling furious tears jump to his eyes. He wiped them away in fervor. Blaine looked positively torn, as if he was simply itching to hold Kurt and wipe away his tears himself.

"No, we'd been broken up. But last night..."

"Fuck you, Blaine!" Kurt interrupted once more. "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you! You know, fucking you is going to be the LAST thing on my mind from now on. So just go... find Weston and... laugh about how hilarious it was to lead me on, and I'll find a man who will be honest, and will commit with me, you fucking tool."

"That's a lot of profanity..." Blaine commented quietly, sounding rather broken. Kurt felt his shoulders vibrate with pure, unadulterated fury, but he simply pivoted on his heel and strode from Blaine's apartment without another word.

Kurt didn't even mind that he practically ran right into Weston himself on his way down the hall to the elevator. He was still in such a fury that he didn't even hear half of the words that came bubbling out of his mouth.

"Please," he shot, gesturing in false kindness to make way for his path. "You first. Go have fun with your boyfriend, don't let me stop you!"

Weston peered at him skeptically for a moment before turning on his heel to enter Blaine's apartment. Kurt watched him go, and as soon as the door shut he felt himself crumble, the solid block of rage that had kept him standing collapsed along with Kurt as he fell into the nearest wall and sank his shaking back against the wall. He propped his elbows against unsteady knees, face in his hands, and wept; not caring if the owner of the adjacent apartment from where he was sitting came out to find a pathetic weeping little boy outside their home. Because that's what Kurt felt like. A pathetic little boy. That was what Blaine had reduced him to. A hopelessly romantic teenage boy. Where was all of the progress that Kurt had made? God, or whoever was up there, only knew.

But a loud bang and a yell loud enough to be heard from down the hall jerked Kurt out of his self pity.

Kurt hesitated. It could have been any apartment. It didn't necessarily have to have been Blaine and Weston.

He just stared at his knees a moment, gathering all the courage he had for what he was about to do. He took a deep breath and stood, feeling electrical anxiety course through his veins.

He hadn't listened to a word Blaine was saying.

What a fool he was. He was still at the beck and call of Blaine, even when he wasn't exactly asking for it.

Well, that was reality. So he went to the apartment door, and knocked on it sharply. He smoothed his jacket's shoulders carefully. The door swung open.

Weston stood there, in all his glory, glaring at Kurt. Upon seeing it be Kurt, a huge fake smile plastered itself upon his face.

"You're from the cupcake shop! I thought I recognized you when you were leaving," Weston said genially. "What do you need?"

"I'm a friend of Blaine's, and I heard a loud noise coming from his apartment as I was leaving, so... is everything OK?" Kurt asked shakily. Weston's smile twitched for a moment, then grew wider.

"Everything is perfect, now that I'm back with Blaine," he responded smoothly. "But he's a bit tired right now, so you can come back later to talk with him."

"I was just talking with him," Kurt said, shocking himself with his bravery. "He didn't seem tired at all." The smile on Weston's face slid completely off, leaving only apathy.

"Listen, you're a nice guy, Kurt," Weston said lowly. "I think you should just get out of here. Forget about Blaine. Forget about everything that you heard. That you THINK you heard," he amended. "Just go to that elevator, and go back to your cupcake shop. You really are very good at that."

Kurt normally prided himself on being a cool-headed sort of guy. He sorted things out with reason, and words, and patience, and all of those other diplomatic things. But Kurt wasn't an idiot. He knew instantly, judging from what he had just seen and heard, what was going on here. And that rage he had just been harboring a few minutes ago conveniently came surging up again to his aid.

Kurt had never thrown a punch in his life, but the blow he struck to Weston's jaw startled him just enough to give Kurt time to throw another jab into his ribs, knocking the wind out of him and sending him to the floor.

Before the little time he had ran out, Kurt ran into the apartment in a frenzy. He would deal with Weston later (which was about to be soon, because Weston was struggling as Kurt scanned the apartment), but right now all that mattered to Kurt was-

"Blaine!" Kurt shouted, upon catching sight of him.

Blaine was woozily getting up, holding the side of his head. A large cut was steadily seeping blood, and the edge of the glass coffee table had shattered. The blood ran down Blaine's arm, dripping from his elbow.

"I should have told you," Blaine slurred, and Kurt rushed forward to put an arm beneath him to support him.

"No, that's fine, let's get out of here, right now," Kurt prattled, feeling jumpy.

Weston had since gotten up, walking forward with intent glinting in his eyes. Kurt groaned and quickly thought of something, anything.

"I'll call the police," he shouted suddenly. Weston froze, and Kurt nodded frantically. "Just let us go. Let us go and it will be infinitely better for you. My brother won't have to beat the ever-living shit out of you. And he will, you know, he's 6'4'' and just enormous."

Weston didn't say a word, but came forward. "I don't give a shit," he growled, and he grabbed Kurt by the throat. Kurt choked at the sudden loss of air, Blaine falling to the ground beside him. Weston pushed Kurt up against the wall. "You're not going to call anybody. You're going to leave here. And when Blaine gets stitches for his clumsy fall onto the table, you're not going to question it."

Kurt flailed his arms pathetically, and swung his knee upwards in the only self-defense move that he could think of. Weston crumbled, clutching at his groin, and Kurt bent to get Blaine, panting madly for air.

"Let's go, let's go," he said, feeling high on adrenaline, whisking Blaine upwards and dashing from the apartment. "We have to go to the hospital, Blaine, and you have to stay awake for it, OK?"

"Thank you, I really, really owe you..." Blaine groaned. Kurt shook his head.

"No, I'm sorry, but we don't have time for that right now."

Kurt had no idea how long Weston was going to stay down, and panic drove him madly from the apartment as fast as he could while supporting Blaine's weight. If he could just get to the elevator in time...

He hushed Blaine's continual mutterings of apologies and curse words as he lunged down the hallway, pressing the elevator button frantically. He heard an apartment door slam open, but he didn't need to turn to see who made the noise.

The doors opening to sanctuary slid slowly open, and Kurt practically leaped into it, frantically slamming the button. The last thing he saw before the doors shut were a pair of gleaming, furious, murderous eyes.

Kurt collapsed to the floor, holding Blaine tightly and hyperventilating into his hair.

"Blaine, I have to call 911, you're losing too much blood-"

"No," Blaine breathed. "No time, he'll get us. We can drive."

"Blaine don't be-"

But realization spread across Blaine's face. "The stairs..." he managed. "He'll take the stairs..."

"Okay we'll drive-"

But the same thought occured to them as they exchanged frightened glances.

"Your car keys..." Kurt whispered.

"Fuck!" Blaine shouted, the effect rather ruined by the coughing fit that occurred afterwards. Kurt shook his head, eyes wide, frantic to think of a decision.

"Wait, Blaine," Kurt said slowly. "Wait a hot second. I'm the son of the owner of a car repair shop. What the fuck have we been thinking?"

They ran to Blaine's car, Kurt quickly grabbing his boot and breaking the window of the car. Blaine's eyes widened.

"Kurt, my car -"

"I'll fix it, you dumbass, just get in the car!" Kurt screeched, unlocking the car hastily.

Blaine nodded, running to get into the shotgun side. Kurt grabbed at his purse, pulling out his emergency kit. He threw gauze at Blaine. "Press it tightly!" he commanded, Blaine nodding once more. He shuffled through the kit, finding his screwdriver. "Thank fucking god!"

Kurt quickly drilled inwards with the screwdriver, destroying the car's lock pins. He then twisted the screwdriver into the key latch and turned.

"I'm sorry, Blaine, but your car is now destroyed. I shall replace any parts you need, but later," Kurt said quickly. Blaine looked alarmed, but Kurt had already stepped on the gas. At that moment, Weston had burst from the stairs, looking murderous, but they were already speeding from the place.

"What do you mean my car is destroyed?" Blaine said, beginning to hyperventilate.

"Well, the key switch is broken. So anyone with a screwdriver can now steal your car," Kurt said distractedly. "My dad knows how to fix it. I had to do this to my car once."

"Why in the world -"

"Not everyone is as nice as Dalton is to gay kids, Blaine," he said sharply. He had his phone out, already having dialed the number to the Olympia Medical Center. "Hello, I have an emergency..."

* * *

><p>Luckily, Blaine's injury wasn't as bad as the copious amounts of blood lost suggested. After the glass and blood had been cleared away by the nurses, Doctor Greyson (a pretty brunette woman of about thirty) announced the verdict.<p>

"You're going to be just fine, Mr. Anderson. You'll need several stitches, but you'll be put right back to order."

Kurt sighed the enormous breath he had been holding in.

"Thanks, doctor," Blaine said, smiling weakly. He was still recovering from his low blood levels.

"However, I'm going to have to require to spend at least a night at the hospital, so we can monitor you to make sure you don't succumb to shock, and that you recover properly from your blood loss."

When Blaine had been sewn up and put right (Kurt courteously and silently grasping his hand the whole way), he got settled into the bed of his room. Doctor Greyson bid them farewell.

"I'll check in on you in a few hours. Visiting hours end at ten, Mr. Hummel."

Kurt, sitting on a stool beside Blaine's bed, glanced at his phone which read 9:30 pm. He looked desperately up at her, and she smiled amiably.

"We can make an exception," she said softly before exiting the room, closing the door behind her.

Kurt turned to Blaine, who lolled his head lazily to meet his gaze.

"Hey," he said, voice croaky and low.

"Hey," Kurt replied, hating the way his voice sounded silky compared to Blaine's, trying to loosen the growing knot in his throat.

Silence.

Kurt was the one to break it. "I don't want to pry but... I think we need to talk. Or," he shrugged, "You talk minus me screaming."

Blaine pondered Kurt's vulnerable blue eyes searchingly.

* * *

><p><em>And that's the end. That's where we left off. Imagine what you like, hate me if you want, but I warned you it wasn't finished. Hope you enjoyed what we had though? (Insert hopeful smile here)<em>


End file.
